I hate winter. Not just general dislike of winter – I HATE it. I hate it so much, and it’s so well known, that while I was writing this, my husband also wrote about how much I hate winter.
Full-on winter weather didn’t seem to start until close to Christmas, so I thought, “This’ll be a short winter. I can handle this.”
The kids are older, so I thought we’d get out more and wouldn’t feel as cooped up as we have the last few years.
I hoped for a mid-winter vacation to help me beat the blues. But finances and work schedules conspired against us and we won’t be going anywhere even remotely tropical.
I wanted to hate it less this year, so I thought just the act of having a more positive outlook might help me hate it less.
I still hate it. Full on hate it. I cringe when I see snow in the forecast and highs in the teens. There are days at a time when I don’t leave the house. And even inside the house, I’m freakin’ cold pretty much all the time. It’s miserable.
But I’m still trying not to hate it.
So today, when the temps were close to 40, the sun was out and a lot of our previous snow had melted, we went outside. The kids played at the park and I walked laps around the park. We explored in the woods. We had to take off our gloves and unzip our coats by the end. It wasn’t miserable.